


In the Valley of Beasts

by fabularumliber



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Alternate Universe, Chosen Three, Gen, Post-Canon, Post-Twilight Princess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-04 02:31:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12761244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabularumliber/pseuds/fabularumliber
Summary: Hyrule will never be at peace when its secrets lie hidden in the dust of a lost age. The princess dreams of death and destruction, of monsters awakening in the blackness of a hidden tomb. The Goddesses have chosen their vessels, outfitted them with all the gifts Destiny can bring. Can the combined powers of the Chosen Three stand united against unspeakable horrors from beyond their world?





	1. The Vessels

**Author's Note:**

> Repost of an old work, slightly modified and cleaned up.

Beyond the furthest reaches of man, concealed in an ancient and desolate land where only the dead wander, a shattered circle of stones strains upward toward a bleak and cloudy sky like a handful of the world’s tallest knife blades. Words and runes in languages long extinct are carved upon the filthy surfaces. They seem to glow a sullen yellow in the sulfurous light. Nothing has moved here for hundreds of years. This land is far too cursed and poisoned by ancient magics to sustain even a breath of life. Decades ago, brave adventurers would often journey to the dead land in hopes of discovering treasure. Their bones now litter the earth like so much trash.

On the sixth day of the new year, a shiver runs through the circle. For the briefest of seconds, everything regains its stillness. There is no second warning. A tumultuous upheaval begins. In the space of seven minutes, a vast, gaping hole opens in the earth like a yawning mouth, taking half of the obelisks with it. Looking into this pit would be like peering into the deepest, maddest abyss in hell.

Far beneath the barren ground, an ancient being opens its eyes.

The resulting shockwaves kill sixteen people, mostly desert nomads from the lands beyond Hyrule, and devastates entire villages. Ancient Gerudo temples and dwellings from the neighboring desert country are eradicated in a cloud of choking dust. No one in any of Hyrule’s provinces feels a thing, except a certain princess asleep in her bed.

***

She felt the deaths, every single one of them. Each one was like a knife blade to the heart, a sick and bitter twist as the doomed nomads breathed their last beneath suffocating blankets of dirt and dust. With tears streaming down her cheeks, the Princess of Hyrule flailed around in her deep bed. There was a terrible pressure against her chest, and she could _feel_ her ribs cracking, curling around her vulnerable lungs and heart, compressed almost to the point of shattering—

And then there was nothing. She fell out of bed with silk sheets tangled between her legs, her hands pressed against her chest in a futile attempt to protect herself from nothing. No more pain, no more suffocation, though her heart still beat heavily from the shock. A dream, then. No evil monster had come to crush her where she lay.

Nothing was ever _just_ a dream for the Princess Zelda. Ever since childhood, her dreams had held grains of truth, warnings of what was to come... or what had already happened. Her father, a deeply practical man, had tended to dismiss his daughter’s omens and portents as mere childish imagination. Put down your books, he would tell her. Enough stories! Your time would be better spent learning your lessons and preparing for your future. Despite all of her best attempts to leave the fantasy worlds of her youth behind, the dreams had continued through the years. A prophet’s destiny could not be avoided by pretending it did not exist.

Rubbing her mussed golden hair, the woman slowly picked herself up off the floor. The jumbled sheet came free after a few minutes of patient yanking and a well-chosen curse. When she stood up, the solid stone floor felt more like shifting sand beneath her bare feet. Heat lay thickly upon her skin, though the room itself was cool and dim. What time was it? Some gray hour before dawn, she supposed, if the sky beyond her lacy curtains was any indication.

**Tell me. Do you ever feel a strange sadness as dusk falls?**

Sunrise, sunset. What was the difference? They looked the same, two sides of the same coin. Shivering, Zelda tied a robe around her frame. She had experienced enough light and shadows to last a lifetime.

Ah, but never mind. Link would be here at noon. The Princess’s Champion had become a very good friend ever since fate, in the forms of a certain metal-masked freak and his monstrous master, had shoved them so crudely together. Between the two of them, they would whip Hyrule back into shape. Oh, but there was so much to do...

One small, pale hand stole out and snatched up a tiny, leather-bound book from the bedside table. The princess sat in the chair beside her window and began to read. Gray winter light fell upon her, ghostly on her skin. Poetry, a secret weakness. Little by little, as she passed from the real world and into the fantastical one on the pages, the feeling of oppressive heat and gritty desert sand faded.

***

By all means, for all the sins he had ever committed, his personal afterlife should have been full of fire and pain—a torture chamber where he could burn and suffer for his crimes forever and ever. Surely he deserved a place among the demon-sons of the Goddess Haika, who had almost destroyed the Golden Land her Sisters had built with their own hands. Perhaps a place among the cursed ones, the Twili? Well, they had tried _that_ once, but a good God always finds his Vessel. Even the prison that held the shadow people for centuries could not hold him. All he had needed was a single, dim-witted lackey.

Whatever Ganondorf Dragmire had _expected_ to experience upon his death, this was not part of it. His afterlife was cold, hard, and utterly silent. His limbs felt like lead. He could not move, could barely breathe. He was being crushed. Soon his ribs would pierce him; soon, his head would burst open like a rotten—

It was over. Bemused, he rubbed his face with a callused hand that felt colder than ice. Perhaps it had been some kind of rebirth, some omniscient Mother forcing him out of a stone womb. A little bit of a squeeze? Was that _all_ the Goddesses could do? Psh. Please.

He sat up and scratched the back of his head. So cold! Where on earth was he? Snowpeak? Why would he be there? It held no significance for him, only a kind of bitter irony that a son of the desert would lie forever beneath a blanket of snow and ice. Yet, try as he might, he could see only an endless expanse of stone. Not a single snowflake in sight. How bizarre. When he looked up toward the ceiling, a long sheaf of hair fell into his face. Impatiently, he brushed it out of the way. Smooth stone floors, deep shadowy corners, and patterns of colored light falling through space and tinting his skin purple. He looked up. Tall, ghostly stained glass windows ringed the chamber. Now. Why did those windows look familiar?

The very air in the space was thick with haunting, tingling vitality; magic too ancient and vital for even Ganondorf to fully comprehend. If he wanted, perhaps, he could linger here forever and try to unlock the secrets of the whispering voices caressing his ears... but that would mean staying here, and that simply would not do. If he was to live another life, he would not waste a moment of his time—

Time. Temple of Time. Gods, how could he be so stupid? With an inner groan, he stood up. For a moment, the world doubled before his eyes and then settled. Walking on legs that felt like stilts, he stumbled out of the chamber and into the temple proper.

The Temple of Time was exactly as Ganondorf remembered it—a massive expanse of silent stone emptiness, with two statues to guard the sacred chamber that doubled as the entrance to the proving grounds. The whole room seemed to hold its breath as if waiting for him to leave so it could exist in peace once more. Instead of running to the door, he walked sedately. No phantoms whispering in the shadowy places would frighten him into running. He refused to leave like a frightened prisoner. No, he would leave like a king, like the master of his domain.

Or... he wouldn’t leave at all, because the doors were locked.

Too bemused to be vexed, Ganondorf tried pulling a little harder on the elegant handles. The doors did not budge. Even an unlocking spell, spoken in a long-dead language that made the temple shiver, did not permit him to pass beyond the barrier. Well. Damn. That didn’t work. An oath passed through his lips. Why was he awake if he could not leave? Was this some sort of sick joke? Was he to wander around this tomb for eternity, staring at the statues and the hideous glass windows until he went insane? Gods, who had chosen those windows anyway? Such poor taste!

_Keep it together, Ganondorf, keep it together._

Obviously, there was a reason for him to be here. If that reason was not revealed now, it surely would be in the future. All that was left for him to do was wait. Fate always had a reason for everything, even the most annoying of inconveniences. So, with a small hum, he took a seat on the stairs and leaned against the rail. Now, to criticize every inch of this temple.

***

There was something wrong. Link of Ordon knew that the moment he stepped into Princess Zelda’s study. It was something about the way she stood, in the set of her jaw and the shadows beneath her eyes. Her dress and jewelry were as tidy as ever, but her _eyes_ —

“Link?”  
He snapped to attention, clearing his throat. “Uh? Sorry. I was distracted.”

She regarded him with a small smile that brightened her delicate, troubled features. “It’s all right. I know I do not look my best...”

He spluttered out a reply, something about how she looked as beautiful as ever, and Zelda laughed. The sound echoed warmly in the high, cavernous space. Link was not fond of the office: it was far too cold and impersonal for his liking, much like the rest of the castle. Zelda’s presence was like sunshine, brightening the darkest corners of the room. Zelda was so different from the nobility. She had humility, and kindness, and compassion... which was probably why her subjects adored her.

As quick as her mirth had come, it abruptly dissolved, leaving Zelda looking wan again. Dread crept into Link’s heart; the smile slid from his lips. “What’s wrong?” he asked her.

A frown twisted her lips. “I had a dream.”

“I see.” He took a seat, leaning back in the upholstered chair. Generations of far more polished behinds had sat in this seat, and here he was, dirtying it with trail dust and grass. Zelda did not mind.

Quickly, the Princess summarized her early-morning visions. The mention of a primordial, malevolent entity awakening caused Link’s eyes to widen in surprise. “Do you mean Ganondorf?” he asked when she fell silent.

“No. It was a monster... evil and cunning... violent... and old beyond measure.” How she knew this, Zelda was unsure.

“Old and evil could still be Ganondorf,” Link mused.

Zelda shook her head. “No. I mean, yes, Ganondorf is old and evil, but this was not Ganondorf. We sealed his corpse in the Temple of Time and locked his weapon away in the dungeon.”

“Hmm.” He fell silent a moment, looking down at the dirt on his boots. He had tracked it through the castle, of course, never thinking for a moment about the filth he inflicted upon the civilized folk. At last, he looked up, bright eyes thoughtful. “Should I check on his body?”

He expected her to scoff. To tell him that Ganondorf was dead and never returning, and to not be so silly. Some small part of him prayed for her to smile in that kind but slightly exasperated way of hers and remind him that they had seen him die, that Link himself had been the old warlord’s executioner. No one could expect to take a blow from the Master Sword and expect to live, after all.

Zelda surprised him by taking the comment seriously. Her head tilted; she reached up and rubbed her pointed chin, apparently deep in thought. “Yes. I think you should check on him.”

“You can’t be serious. Ganondorf is _dead_. I killed him.” How could she suggest that, when the afterimage of the man’s dying scream was still painted behind Link’s eyes? “The Triforce even abandoned him at the moment of his death.”

Over the last year, the pair had learned much about the mysterious relic that connected them, spoken of in legends all seeming to revolve around a mysterious boy in green garb. They had come to acknowledge its cyclic nature. Everything came around time and time again, like the seasons or the centuries. Surely it was folly to believe Ganondorf could so easily drop out of the circle of destiny, but Link _wanted_ to believe it, damn it. He _wanted_ to believe he would never again have a close brush with the monster. He had so narrowly escaped death the first time! Another battle might actually kill him, or worse, cut out his soul and leave him to wander the fields as an unhappy spirit forever, unfulfilled and restless.

Now Zelda _did_ flash that smile at him, and Link felt his heart fold in on itself. “Do it for me?” she asked him quietly, offering her hands across the desk. The Triforce sparkled on her hand, and his glowed in harmonious reply. How could he ever think they were anything but bound? “Please, Link. I think... I think this is important.”

Though Link wanted so desperately to say no, the haunted look in her eyes that spoke to far more than loss of sleep thwarted his every attempt to protest. He gave in, taking both her hands and nodding. “I will, Your Majesty.”

“Stop that,” she ordered. Oh, thank the Gods, a little liveliness. “I hate that.”

He chuckled as he bent over her hands to gently kiss them. “As you wish.”


	2. Snow

The next night, Zelda dreamed of a great, flat plain in the center of an abyss. All around her, glowing planets revolved in endless cycles. Worlds upon worlds, moving together like the pearls in her necklace. Fine gossamer threads wove the planets together in a lattice above her head. As she stood there, fascinated, she became aware of platforms spinning around hers, like planets trapped in her orbit. Upon all of the platforms, save for two, stood familiar figures in white robes and masks. For some reason, those two blank spaces caused sickening stabs of horror and grief. She sobbed aloud in her sleep, waking her maid. Why two? Why two? Why not only one? There should only be one! There should only be—

_Princess. Time is short. The center cannot hold. Everything we worked for has unwound._

The planets slowed, began rotating slowly in the opposite direction, descending as they spun.

_We cannot hold the Gods in chains. We have tried for far too long. They are not to be trifled with. Beware, the Wishmaster... the Illusionist... the Eater of Worlds..._

Far beneath her, there was a rumble. An inhuman scream that raised the hair on the back of her neck.

_The Dragon._

The figures, the planets, the threads, all shattered like glass. She was left alone in the darkness.

***

The Lost Woods, as always, filled Link with deep disquiet. Though he would never admit it, he feared the day he took a wrong turn out here in the emerald silence and could not find his way out. A voice, perhaps the voice of his ancestor, always assured him that the woods were not his enemy—they neither hated nor loved the boy in green, and their mysterious depths were not impenetrable. If he was patient and did not lose his head, he would make his way out.

He trusted this voice, as faint as it was... though he wished it had something to say about the figure that peeked out from between the trees at him. It was not the Skull Kid—his scent was one of damp moss and rainwater, his sound the soft clinking of wooden chimes. Whatever phantom Link glimpsed at the corner of his eye every time he turned his head struck a sour note in his ears and his mind.

He made his way through the hollowed-out log that served as a tunnel, skirting a pond as clear as glass all the way to the bottom. His sword was in hand, its weight comforting and familiar. He had not expected to wield the Master Sword again, but upon Zelda’s request, he had retrieved it from the Temple of Time one month before. Thank the Goddesses for her intuition... his old sword could not pierce Ganondorf’s hide.

Had Zelda _known_ the Master Sword would be needed?

The question stopped him in his tracks. Zelda was prone to these flashes of insight. Perhaps she had known all along that Ganondorf would return. It held a sick sort of sense. Link always seemed to be the last to know things, not that he minded. Ignorance, for the most part, was bliss. He would happily walk onto any battlefield for the princess. Zelda, out of all the nobles he had met since becoming a hero, was the only one to treat him as a person instead of some sort of fabulous freak, or an idol to be worshipped and carefully examined. A farm boy he had always been, and a farm boy he would continue to be. His destiny had nothing to with his ego. He had no desire to be adored or scrutinized by anyone. Zelda accepted him as he was, and thus, he could be anything she wanted him to be.

_Snap._

The sound brought Link’s guard up. He drew his sword, oblivious to the musical sound of ringing steel as he slid it from its sheath. Something was out there, and it was not the Skull Kid or his mechanical minions. He listened hard and, hearing nothing, moved on at a slightly faster pace. Through the trees, down the path, past the broken-down arch—

A shape stepped into his path. Startled, he raised his weapon and skidded to a halt. “Ganondorf!”

The Gerudo stood on the path, massive shoulders slumped. His face was blank of any expression, his eyes dull and unfocused. To Link, he resembled one of the dolls the village children in Ordon loved to play with: features painted on smooth wooden heads, frozen in silent smiles, hands limp at their sides. A thrill of horror shot through him. What had happened to his enemy?

“Ganondorf,” Link said again, moving forward. The Gerudo raised his hands and held them out—no, up, as if trying to push Link back. He raised his sword again, but Ganondorf took no notice. When Link tried to walk around him, he found that Ganondorf stepped with him, blocking the boy from proceeding down the path. Link slashed at him—the blade passed straight through his body without drawing blood. What...?

He glanced over Ganondorf’s shoulder. There was a creature crouched behind him, a long body half-hidden in shadow, two malevolent eyes smoldering at him from beneath a heavy brow. It had appeared without even a bush rustling to signal its arrival, as if it were a phantom—or perhaps an illusion.

“Ganondorf, what is—”

He turned and strode the monster on stiff legs. A torrent of flame erupted, surrounding the enormous man with a blazing halo, but Ganondorf walked steadily on. He drew his sword, plunged it straight into the monster’s head... and then the whole scene evaporated like the smoke from a campfire.

Link rubbed his eyes. Rubbed them hard. When he opened them again, no trace of either form remained. But the message was clear. Whatever they faced, the three of them, Ganondorf had to be there. But _why_? He was a monster! A warlord, a thief, a demon!

Grumbling, he moved on. There had better be a good explanation for this nonsense... all of this confusing vision stuff was already wearing on his nerves.

***

Ganondorf dreamed often while he was stuck in the Temple of Time. Mostly, he dreamed about being nestled comfortably among a group of his people, listening to the women of the tribe tell stories of great heroes: Maigan, the Battle Queen; Eles, the Serpent Whisperer; Dejis, brave and true, who slew the King of Scorpions and won the hearts of the populace. But sometimes the dreams were slightly more disturbing. In these visions, his people were ripped apart by eldritch horrors, things with many eyes and teeth, and he was just a boy again, a helpless boy watching their destruction before his horrified eyes. He awoke from these dreams drenched in sweat, the names of the dead from a past he barely remembered locked in his trembling throat.

How long had he been here? He could not recall. It was always the dusty dawn of a forgotten age beyond the hideous windows. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he saw that pattern in the darkness behind his eyelids. Interestingly, though he had slept several times and already become bored, he felt no hunger or thirst. Even more interesting: his fingernails and beard were not growing.

As time went by, and as he drifted closer and closer to all-encompassing insanity, the voices of the dead began whispering to him. This was not unusual—many children of his tribe could talk to spirits. He used to do so with some frequency but had not heard even a single voice in centuries. It was as if during his imprisonment some of his senses, dulled from centuries of neglect, had suddenly jumpstarted. Maybe it was the effects of the temple opening his mind. Maybe it was the loss of the Triforce, for he was certain by now that the golden idol had departed from his form. He was no longer a Vessel of the Gods. This was partially a relief.

Ganondorf awoke for the last time with an uneasy stomach and an aching head. Was it colder in here? He sat up. There appeared to be snow falling from the ceiling, settling on his massive shoulders. When he moved to wipe it away, thin lines of pain burned deep into his skin. He grunted, annoyed, and took his hand away to find a palm full of blood. The snow had sliced into him as easily as a knife blade.

He glanced down the length of the temple. Bitterly radiant frost crackled on the windows. Delicate fingers of ice crept with eerie creaks along the walls toward the Master Sword’s chamber and crawled up the guardian statues. As he watched, they shattered into rubble. Ganondorf flinched and covered his face, convinced the shards would pierce his skin. But when he took his hands away, he found no injuries. So. Snow could hurt him, but giant chunks of stone could not? What on earth was going on here?! This was getting _very_ annoying. By Anguis, he would personally gut whoever was responsible for this nonsense—

A sudden flash of blue light interrupted Ganondorf’s empty threats. It painted the walls with a frigid sapphire brilliance and then faded. He blinked, certain it was a mirage. Of course, it was a mirage! How stupid was he? This whole damn thing was just a parlor trick by an angry Sage... or a Goddess... or maybe he had officially lost his mind.

The blue light flashed again, stronger than before.

He walked toward the Master Sword’s chamber. Ice crunched beneath his clanking boots and threatened to trip him up. No amount of finesse would help him here—falling was entirely up to chance. His breath emerged in whitish curls of mist. Half-marching, half-sliding (and with a few well-chosen curses), he picked his way to the passageway and peeked inside.

The chamber was full of snow. In place of the Pedestal of Time, a crude stone table stood. Lying on the table was a woman, a redheaded woman, and she was screaming. The glow came from the center of her chest. It welled up and spilled down her sides, down the table, like a fountain of blood—

“Ganondorf!”

He jumped, raising his bleeding hands in front of his face again— but there was no blood. His hands were clean. For a moment, he stared at them with dumb amazement, until the thudding of Link’s feet across the room snapped him from his daze. He stepped aside just as the boy thrust a length of deadly-sharp steel into the space he had just occupied. He pushed the boy away, knocking him sprawling. “Hey!”

Link found his feet again in a second. He eyed Ganondorf suspiciously, sword held at the ready. Its hard silver shine made the Gerudo wince. “Zelda was right,” he said, his voice cold. “You are awake.”

Ganondorf nodded in reply. “Awake and confused,” he said, holding up his hands. Link’s grip tightened on his sword, but Ganondorf did not move. “All right. Just... calm down, boy. I’m not going to kill anyone.”

“Like I can be calm when _you’re_ here,” he retorted. But it was something in the way he stood, just like the phantom from the woods vision, made Link tentatively lower his sword only a little. Ganondorf was dangerous, yes of course, but... could he _trust_ the visions his Goddess had sent him?

Silence fell between them. What on earth could they say to one another? Gee, Ganondorf, sorry I killed you once. Oh, that’s all right, Link. You had to. I understand completely. No. Both of them were far too proud for that “bigger man” nonsense. Besides. The handshake and understanding nod were perfect bridge-mending techniques for minor misunderstandings between gentlemen. A cuckolded husband and a rakish stranger, perhaps. Murder was far beyond the threshold of things that could be forgotten by performing simple social niceties.

“I saw you running over here,” Link commented. Ganondorf did not lower his hands. “I called and called, but you didn’t answer.”

“I had a vision,” he muttered.

“You, too?” A smile touched Link’s lips. “Seems like I’m the only one not having any.” Some things were best left private. Once Zelda had heard about the imagined Ganondorf in the woods, she would decide if the real Ganondorf should be allowed to hear it.

“Don’t worry,” he muttered. “You’ll probably have one too, soon enough.”

“Think so?”

“I do.” His tone was even, measured. “Something’s... happening out there, isn’t it?”

“I don’t know,” the boy responded truthfully. At last, he sheathed his blade, though his hand never moved too far from the hilt. Ganondorf could respect that. “Maybe Zelda will know.”

“Maybe.” Ganondorf paused. It would only take a second for Link to draw that thing again. He needed to keep calm and not antagonize him. “Tell me about her visions.”

“I should let her tell you.”

“You should tell me now,” he said patiently. He had to resist the urge to strangle the youth, well aware that it would spell his doom. “Tell me now, so I can ponder as we ride.”

“We?” His nose wrinkled in disgust. “Who said you’re leaving?”

“No one needed to say it. I _am_ leaving.”

“And where do you think you’re going?”

“Snowpeak.”

Ganondorf had not meant to say it—the word simply tumbled from his mouth, and yet, it felt right. Snowpeak. He was going to Snowpeak. Even if Link tried to drag him back, tried to bash him over the head with his sacred blade and haul him to the Temple of Time, he would not stray from his path.

Link followed the warlord toward the doors. No ice to slide on this time. Not a single ice crystal on the windows. “Where are you going?”

“Snowpeak!” he repeated. He strode toward the doors and tugged on their handles... yet they still did not open. He swore loudly. “Open up!”

“They won’t open for you,” said Link. If Ganondorf had heard an ounce of smugness in the boy’s voice, he would have ripped his spine out barehanded, Master Sword be damned. Instead, there was only confusion. “Why won’t they open for you?”

“No idea,” he said, with a roll of his eyes. “Why don’t you ask them?”

Link ignored the sarcasm with good grace. As he reached out to touch the handles, a horrible screech echoed through the stony silence of the temple. The sound pierced his ears and seemed to echo in the deepest caverns of his skull. A sliver of pain bolted across his brain.

Ganondorf staggered, stunned by the noise. He groped for a sword he did not carry. Once again, he had forgotten his lack of weaponry. “Gods! What was that?”

Before Link could reply, there came a heavy crash that shook the dust from the vaulted ceiling. They both crouched low, eyes sweeping the temple. There was a shape beyond the windows, a shadow crawling over the roof and down the wall. The pair held their breath. A long, plaited tail scraped against the window, drawing an excruciating squeal from the glass, which mercifully did not break.

“What is that?” Link whispered. He gave Ganondorf a hard nudge. “Some horror meant to scare me?”

“It’s not me!” he hissed back. He could sense something, some vast and furious hunger. “Shut up, Boy! I can’t manipulate anything outside the temple!”

“Then what _is_ it?!”

There was another screech, silencing their argument. Link glared up at the ceiling with his sword raised high. No featureless, unknown monster would frighten him into submission. It would have to confront him first. Huge wavering noises filled the air and rattled the windows. The sounds pressed into their eardrums.

“It’s taking off,” Ganondorf muttered.

The roof groaned. Clouds of dust and debris rained down on them. A fragment of stone bounced off Link’s shield. As they listened, the flapping grew fainter and fainter... and finally, silence fell once more. The entire temple seemed to wait, to listen, for the return... but there was none.

Link released a huge breath he had not even realized he had been holding and seized the door handles. The doors opened on silent, well-oiled hinges, just as they had been designed to. Well, that hurt Ganondorf’s pride a little. Link practically ran out of the temple, looking at Ganondorf expectantly.

He stepped out of the temple and into the forest. Mellow sunlight, strained through emerald leaves, fell lightly upon his skin. It felt good to be in the sun again, with a delicate breeze plucking at his clothes and ruffling his hair. No wonder he wanted to conquer Hyrule! Who would see the beauty of this land and not covet it?

Link nudged his arm, breaking him from his trance. “Stay close to me,” he said quietly. “The woods aren’t safe. And whatever that thing was may come back.”

He nodded. This was one of the few places in Hyrule where he felt no confidence in his navigation skills. The trees were close and forbidding, the paths narrow and identical. If he attempted to escape these woods alone, he would be lost forever.

With an internal shudder at the thought of being a prisoner among the trees forever (and possibly at the thought of being reliant on his worst enemy), he stepped closer to Link. “Let’s go, Hero. ‘The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, /But I have promises to keep, /And miles to go before I sleep /And miles to go before I sleep.’”

Link stared at him. “... What?”

He rolled his eyes. Goddesses, this would be a long trip! “Never mind. Let’s just get walking.”

***

By the time they found their way out of the forest, a headache had grown in Ganondorf’s temples. Every clearing had looked exactly the same! How had the boy managed to differentiate? It seemed an impossible task. Maybe that was an aspect of his Triforce piece... working out solutions to seemingly intolerable difficulties through sheer tenacity. Hmph. Made sense. Without Wisdom, Link had to throw ideas at a wall to see what stuck. Well, it was probably better than Ganondorf’s own strategy of throwing himself directly at the problem.

“So.” The boy broke the silence for the first time only after stopping to rest by Faron’s Spring. The old guardian was not present... good. His wild magic hurt Ganondorf’s eyes and set his teeth on edge. “Why Snowpeak?”

“I feel like it,” he said evasively. He cupped his hands and dipped them in the spring. It was getting late... the long shadows on the ground had begun to soften, and the clear water was almost invisible with no light to send sparkles skating over its surface. The trees rustled sleepily to themselves. Night in Faron Province would be nothing like night in the Gerudo Desert, with its biting chill and death-bringing winds. It would be pleasant, much like the rest of Hyrule.

Link said nothing as Ganondorf washed his face and picked a spot to sit. The grass, thick with a heavy perfume of growth, was deliciously plush under his frame. Grunting, he unstrapped his enormous chest piece and set it aside. Nothing in this Province was intimidating enough to cause any damage to him as he slept. Besides. For whatever reason, Link needed him alive. No, there was not a single threat to worry about.

He lay back, well aware that Link still watched him. “What do you want, Boy?” he asked without looking up.

“Nothing.” Link observed him with a thoughtful eye as he, too, prepared for sleep. The Master Sword did not stray far from his side. Unlike Ganondorf, he held a healthy respect for the unknown monsters in the darkness of Faron Province, including Ganondorf himself. “I was just thinking. You’re a Gerudo, right? The history books Zelda and I found all say so.”

“That would be correct.” He closed his eyes and tucked an arm behind his head. Great, _now_ the boy was getting talkative.

“They lived in the desert. So... I’m guessing your reason for wanting to go to Snowpeak has to do with your vision, and not because you enjoy the weather there.”

The comment startled a laugh out of him. It rolled out into the steadily deepening shadows, pure and sincere. “No,” he answered. “It has nothing to do with the weather. My vision was all about ice and snow... I can only assume it has to do with Snowpeak.”

“That’s what you’re basing this journey on?”

“It’s not like I’m _making_ you come, you know.” He rolled his eyes. “In fact, I would appreciate it if we went our separate ways first thing tomorrow morning.”

“No chance. Zelda told me to come find you. And after...” He frowned, gesturing back into the woods in an expression Ganondorf assumed had something to do with the monster crawling around on the temple like an oversized bird.

“Did she tell you to follow me wherever I wish to go?” he asked patiently.

“No.” Link was silent a moment. “I guess she wanted me to come back immediately. With you.”

“Then why do you continue to entertain my desire to travel to Snowpeak?” he inquired. He opened his eyes. Overhead, the first few stars had begun winking back into visibility. He saw Iduna and Mora, the lovers, forming just above his head. Ahh, their story was so beautifully tragic...

“I don’t know.” Troubled, he plucked at the stalks of grass near his fingertips. “Maybe because you seemed so certain. Maybe... maybe because I think it’s a good idea, too.”

“And here I was thinking you had not a logical bone in your body.” Chuckling, Ganondorf threw his arm over his eyes. “I wonder what insane part of you thinks it’s a good idea to follow me on this quest.”

“The part of me that’s built for quests, I suppose.” He shrugged.

“Courage is what’s built you for quests, Boy. Stupidity’s what keeps you following me.” He shifted to ease a knot of discomfort out of his back. Curse all stone floors he was ever forced to sleep on for the rest of his days! “Or maybe it’s that little voice in the back of your mind that says, for once, Ganondorf knows what he’s doing.”

“Goddesses.” Link groaned, lying down in the fragrant grass himself. “If I ever develop _that_ voice, I’ll know I’ve truly gone mad.”

Ganondorf chuckled. “Don’t worry, Boy. By the time we’ve reached Snowpeak, you’ll be entirely crazy. I promise.”

“We’ll just see about that.”

He shut the boy out and concentrated on his own deep breaths. By the fourth, he was fast asleep. Link was not far behind.

Sometime after they finally ended their conversation, in the deepest hours of darkness, something emerged from between the trees. It settled down on the hill, behind a leafy plant, and watched the two travelers for a long while.


	3. The Mountains

Waking up in the grass, with the first brushes of sunlight caressing his face, was possibly the most pleasant thing Ganondorf had experienced in years. Even the sight of a chipmunk lying on his chest was not enough to spoil his mood. Stupid creatures... what did they think he was, some kind of nest? He was Ganondorf, dammit, King of Evil, not a squirrel bed!

Grumbling, he poked the creature with a single long finger. It jumped to full awareness and disappeared off into the bushes with a single flick of its tail. Rolling his eyes, he sat up. Link was also awake and watching him with a smirk. “Not a word,” Ganondorf warned.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Link stood, grimacing as he stretched. “Hungry?”

“Starving, actually.” He was surprised to find a gnawing hunger in the pit of his belly. Maybe his hair would grow now, too. Hm. Perhaps it was because he was no longer trapped in a pocket of time. Temporal displacement tended to wreak havoc on a mortal form.

They ate a quick breakfast and walked back to Link’s treetop home to retrieve his horse. While the mare seemed overjoyed to see Link, she immediately shied away from Ganondorf’s offered hand. He accepted this with equanimity—he  _ had  _ tried to kill her rider, after all. Animals like Epona had good instincts and long memories. His own horse, Diraj, would react similarly.

Speaking of Diraj, the animal was nowhere in sight. Usually, he could be summoned by a spell, but no matter how much Ganondorf tried, he was unable to apply power to the words. What nonsense was this, when the former wielder of Power failed to perform such a simple spell? Next thing he knew, he would find himself lighting candles  _ by hand _ !

Link mounted Epona, crooning soft praise as he patted the horse’s mane. “Where’s yours?” he asked Ganondorf. Looking down at the man was disconcerting. He was supposed to be giant, and monstrous, towering over lesser beings.

Ganondorf shrugged. It was beginning to be a familiar gesture. “No idea. I’ve walked before—it won’t kill me.”

“But it’ll slow us down, and being alone with you too long might kill  _ me _ .”

“Be quiet, Boy,” he grumbled.

“Or what? Going to send a monster after me?” His eyes narrowed. “What can you do without your magic, Ganondorf?”

There was something in his expression beyond the usual patient annoyance, something hostile or even feral. If Ganondorf had been properly armed, Link might have challenged him right then and there, turning his peaceful little woodland hollow into a battlefield. For once, Ganondorf found himself cautious of the boy. Had his eyes thrown off such sparks during their last meeting? How had he missed the set of Link’s jaw and the shadows on his face? Even the  _ horse  _ seemed to intuit her master’s rage. Goddess!

His response was to slap Epona’s hindquarter. Startled, the horse reared. Link was not prepared for such a sudden motion. He fell off the horse’s strong back, saved at the last second only by Ganondorf’s hand snapping out and seizing the back of his tunic. He uttered a choked wheeze, all the wind knocked from his lungs. Ganondorf raised him up to eye level. As he glared, amber eyes cold and hateful, Link became quite still. His boots dangled a foot off the ground, toes twitching.

“Don’t test me,” Ganondorf ordered him. His hand opened. The blonde hero hit the dirt with a hurt yelp and kicked up a spray of pine needles. Chuckling, Ganondorf strode off. This would be a long trip; he might as well get some fun out of it while he still had the chance.

***

_ The Sages were representatives of their people, revered for their wisdom and their diplomatic prowess. They were commonly seen at Hyrule Castle during the rule of Harken V, advising him on all matters of the kingdom and surrounding countries. According to historians, the involvement of the Sages in the day-to-day routine of the king is the main reason for the golden age of Harken V’s reign. _

_ However, since then, there is no report of any Sages being acknowledged by the Royal court. They have faded into obscurity, an unnecessary position in the modern age. _

That was it. That was the entire entry in the official Hyrulian history concerning the Sages. Nothing about planets, or prayers, or a dragon. Nothing at all.

Instead of screaming from frustration and possibly upsetting the maid nearby, Zelda composed herself and shut the heavy, ornate book. She put it back on its shelf, took a deep breath, and strode out of the library with a rigid back and deeply unhappy expression.

Harken V had been a distant ancestor, a many-times-great grandfather. Loved by the populace, he was known as a kind and passionate man who saw the country through two wars, a famine, and the terrifying winter when Orgard the Butcher terrorized Castle Town and killed sixteen people with his cleaver. When the last Gerudo king was born deep in the heart of the desert, Harken already lay in his royal grave.

How old  _ were  _ the Sages? How many years had they been damned to anonymity? They had seen Ganondorf executed on orders from Harken’s great-grandson, so at least they had been recognized during that time... but what about now? Why had her father never said a word about Sages to her?

The question was not one she could ask, as much as she wanted to. The man had been found dead at his desk before the twilight had been seen in Hyrule, propelling his daughter into a position of leadership years before she believed herself prepared. Well, at least he had been spared the indignity of a dethroning at the hands of Zant. None of the advisors who helped Zelda adjust to her new role ever mentioned anything about Sages. They would have been quite valuable to the grief-stricken princess as she attempted to fill her father’s shoes.

Gloomily, Zelda retreated to her office. The official history was the most comprehensive collection of facts in the library, assembled over the last several hundred years by meticulous scholars. If she found no information there, she would not find it anywhere else. Even poring for days over musty tomes would yield no results. Still, it would not hurt to try. Hundreds of books, hundreds of opportunities for a new truth to come to light.

Maybe when Ganondorf and Link arrived, they could all search together.

Frustrated, Zelda slammed a hand down on the desk, rattling her pens and her flower vase. The sound faded into the unforgiving silence of her office but provided no answers. Gods, she had a headache. She rubbed her temples and opened one of the desk drawers. Spare ink, parchment, and a bottle of wine, her father’s favorite.

Goodness, how long had she been living with her father’s ghosts in her desk? She took the wine from the desk, pretending she could not feel the lump in her throat and the burning heat of tears behind her eyes. Time to dispose of these things. Cleaning out the desk, instead of adding to her aggravation, would give her a task she could complete and feel good about. Perhaps with an organized office, she could approach this conundrum with a peaceful mind.

A glass of wine might also help.

_ Zelda,  _ a nagging voice spoke up,  _ are you cleaning to procrastinate, or to soothe your ego? _

_ Yes _ , she responded firmly. She opened the other drawers, looking for a glass. Books, journals, pens. No glasses. She tried the top-left drawer, but it was locked. Perplexed, she tugged on the handle. Locked? Why? Had her father locked it? How had she never noticed?

_ Great. Another maddening mystery. _

Her father had kept a key somewhere in the office. In one of the books, if she remembered correctly. In fact, had she seen it recently? Touched it? Perhaps shoved it back into a book as she searched through the shelves?

“Goddess, do I really have to go through all these shelves  _ again _ ?!”

The silent library, of course, did not answer. Zelda stood up and went to find a wine glass. She needed a drink now more than ever.

***

“So. Snow.”

“Mhmm.”

The pair stood at one end of the frozen lake, looking up at the Snowpeak Range. The mountains loomed large above them, jagged peaks tearing ragged holes in the cloudy sky. Nothing in particular tugged at Ganondorf. How very disappointing. He had expected some sort of halo in the sky over his destination, or a sudden flash of insight as to why the Goddesses wanted him to come here. Maybe all of this was a sick prank. Din was a mischievous Goddess, after all. The legends were full of Her jokes and misbehaviors. If that was true, Ganondorf would level this entire mountain. Somehow.

Link shivered deeply into his cloak as a chill wind blew past them. “We might as well try to cross,” he said reluctantly, with a glance back at the cave to Zora’s Domain. The formation of the mountains sent even the smallest gust straight through the tunnel and teased a bizarre, whistling moan from the stones. The tone hurt Link’s ears. “Or we could go back and ask the Zora if they have seen anything dangerous lately.”

“You just want the Zora ladies to sing to you again,” was Ganondorf’s reply. He found the sound of their singing almost as repulsive as the tunnel’s eerie drone. Too watery. “You know their songs are for anyone who wishes to hear them, right?”

With a huff, Link started over the frozen lake. The tips of his ears were very red. Ganondorf followed, a small smirk turning up the corners of his mouth.

Link was far lighter than Ganondorf, and his progress across the ice involved much more sliding and cursing. Ganondorf could walk solidly, his boots keeping him grounded, though he was forced to avoid all but the thickest floating chunks to stay above the frosty water. The pair did not speak as they made their way. Staying on dry land prevailed over any small talk.

They were just feet from the snowy bank when a gust of wind roared past them. Ganondorf seized the hem of Link’s tunic and dragged him down before the youth could overbalance. Flecks of ice peppered his face, stinging sharper than knife blades, and tore holes in his flapping clothes. He ducked his head with a snarl. The boy trembled beside him. Nothing he could do except wait for it to die down.

After an eternity, the howling stopped. Gasping, Ganondorf stood. He hauled the boy to his feet like a sack of grain. “Come on,” he grumbled.

Dazed, Link followed him. The King of Evil had just probably saved his life without even realizing it. How odd.

They stopped at a crossroads for a moment to rest and get their bearings. The mountain loomed above them, a monolith older than time could measure. Weak light gleamed just brightly enough to melt every hollow and fold of the rock face into forbidding shadows. A man could wander up there for days and fall into an endless chasm that no magic could rescue him from. Not even his loudest screams would penetrate the whistling wind.

“So,” Link began.

“Not now,” Ganondorf growled back. He rubbed his temples, blinking water from his smarting eyes. It was so cold! Gerudo were not built for cold. Their skin was resilient, accustomed to scorching heat and cutting wind, but finding frost in his beard when he touched it was certainly a new and uncomfortable experience. No, no, this was  _ wrong…  _ there  _ had  _ to be a reason they were up here! There had to be a reason Link had followed him up here! They weren’t destined to freeze solid like statues. There was a vision, there  _ must  _ be a plan. All he had to do was find it.

For a second, he felt himself teetering on the abyss of some great understanding—and then a thump and a yelp tore that moment away. He whipped around to check on Link—but the boy was not there. Only churned snow remained where he had once stood.

"Boy?!" He drew a knife from his belt. Did the boy fall? No, he couldn't be stupid enough to throw himself over the edge, or somehow trip feet away from the side of the cliff. Perhaps he'd lost his balance and fallen down the hill. Ganondorf started down the path, back the way they'd come, growling curses under his breath. There was the boy, all right, tumbling down the hill.

But he was not alone.

***

Link did not recognize the  _ thing  _ he struggled with as he hurtled down the hill. Though he could not have possibly identified it from any book or personal experience, he did know that its slender limbs were deceptively strong, its long body bulky and dense, for in the space of only a second it knocked the wind from his lungs and thrown him completely off balance, dragging him down with one wiry arm. Now, here they were, tightly locked, both battling for dominance. He caught flashes, like snapshots from a Pictograph: leathery gray skin, a smooth head, long fingers with pointed nails that dug into the back of his neck hard enough to draw blood. No matter how he struggled, lean body fishtailing madly, he could not separate himself from his attacker. The hilt of his sword rapped the knot at the back of his neck whenever he landed on his back. Grunting, he pistoned one fist outward and was rewarded with a soft target and a scream from his assailant.

At the base of the hill stood a petrified pine, its bare trunk stripped raw and weathered by centuries of wind. The pair plowed through four feet of fresh powder and slammed into the iron-hard wood. Luckily for Link, the creature took most of the impact. Unluckily, it ended up on top of him. Choked by snow, blinded by whiteness, Link tried to drag himself out from under its leathery body. His hands scrabbled in the dirt, seeking purchase and finding none. The sinewy legs compressing his ribs made every breath an agony—

_ Thud!  _ A shriek of pain. The pressure lifted. Link sat up. By the time he finally cleared the snow from his eyes, Ganondorf stood before him. He had pinned the creature to the tree hard enough to drive the point of a small knife straight through the calcified trunk. Gray-green blood ran the length of the blade and pooled in the snow.

“Y-You got it.” Link stood, knocking snow from his clothes. Everything from the neck down was a solid, pulsating ache.

“I did.” Ganondorf set one boot against the tree trunk, gripped the handle with both hands, and yanked. The knife pulled free with a grating noise that made Link ill. He wrestled briefly with his gorge. His eyes returned time and time again to the twisted, almost serpentine face of his enemy.  

The sound of renewed screams snapped Link from his daze. He drew his sword, ignoring the tightening of Ganondorf’s mouth, and sprinted up the hill again. Ganondorf followed. He reached the top of the hill just in time to see the boy squeeze into the rock face and disappear. Grunting, he threw himself through the gap, into a narrow tunnel. Link was nowhere to be seen in the frigid darkness. Only his bootprints remained in the snow. Ganondorf felt his way along through, hands against the rough walls. Spurs of stone pricked and sliced the pads of his fingers, but he persevered. The blackness was absolute, all-encompassing, the silence broken only by the thin screech of the wind and his ragged breaths.

_ Steady on. It’s only darkness. It cannot hurt you. _

There, far away, a tiny flickering witch-light, trembling, pale: the first glimpse of the leaden sky.

He pushed his body through the break, back out into the sunlight. Just beyond the mouth of the tunnel, the land dropped off, forming a cliff about fifteen feet high, then rose again in a gentle hill. In the deep shadow of a tall, jagged peak, where the hill crowned, an altar of sorts stood among pillars crumbling back into the earth. There were three more of these creatures clustered around the altar. One wore robes made from a ragged patchwork of different cloths and carried a gnarled staff of petrified wood. The necklace of beads and bones around its long neck clinked against its scrawny chest in time to its rhythmic gestures. Its appearance reminded Link strongly of a priest performing a ritual.

“What are they doing?” Link hissed, looking at Ganondorf.

A fresh scream split the air. The three creatures chattered. The excitement in those outlandish voices turned Link’s stomach. “They’re killing someone,” was the man’s reply. “It’s a sacrifice.”


End file.
